


Look back

by tiigle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 22:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20937635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiigle/pseuds/tiigle
Summary: Hermione visits the recovering former Headmaster in his room in St. Mungo's that is not officially a prison cell but it might as well be. He never says anything and she always leaves without looking back.





	Look back

**Author's Note:**

> Just a random plot bunny that struck me while doing the dishes. There will be another chapter or maybe two at some point later on.
> 
> English is not my first language and I don't have a beta reader, so sorry for butchering your language. :D

I sat down on my usual seat, by his left side. He gave me a quick look but didn't say a word. He never did, not for me or for anyone. We did not really know if he was able to or if he just chose to remain silent. 

It was well over a year since that dreadful night when we had found him in the Shrieking Shack. I had poured every potion I had on me down his throat, murmured every spell that might have healing or regenerative effect, and in the end, just as he was on the very brink of death, managed to pull him back to the world of the living. 

He hated me for it, of course. I could not blame him. And that was even before the shit storm that went through the Wizarding Britain after everyone was certain that he would make it - and after Harry shared what must have been some of his most personal memories with them all. He would probably hate me even more for it, if he knew I had absolutely no regrets for what I had done. 

"You look well," I told him. I was lying, and we both knew it, but he did look a bit more like himself. Pale and pissed off, ready to fly off to wherever Dungeon Bats' secret hideout was. The truth is, the silence has become too much for me to bear. Especially when it's getting dark. 

"I can still hear it all, hear them all, you know," I told him out of a whim, just because I could not stand the silence that would unavoidably spread between us. My seemingly random outburst earned me another look, and for the briefest moments I could see something in those endless eyes of his that was not anger. Pity, likely. Whatever it was, it was soon covered by his usual indifference. 

"Especially when it gets dark. I can hear the screams of pain, anger, hatred, and fear, the growls that must have been spells, the sizzling sound of curses flying right past my ear, and the deafening silence that comes when someone dies by your side." 

A muscle twitched on his cheek, but that was the only reaction I was deemed worthy. He was probably imagining biting my head off. But what are Gryffindors if not brave? Therefore, I continued. 

"I don't even know if it is the silence or the darkness. It feels like it's never light any longer. Even when you're out in the middle of the day, it's somehow dimmer. You'd think it'd be somehow different now that the Light has won and whatnot. It seems the Light may have won but it has suffered a horrible blow while at it, and is now but a shadow of its former self, if you excuse the poor word play."

No reaction. What a surprise. Suddenly, I was too tired. Who was I to pour my own sorrows on this man? I had already ruined his life by not letting him die. Why would I not let him stay here in the silence he had chosen for himself, in the room in St Mungo's that was not officially a prison but that we all knew he would not be allowed to walk out of. 

No, he would not walk out of this room for many more months to come. Not only was he still as weak as a week-old Kneazle, but he was, still, essentially the Ministry's prisoner. His trial was over and done with, and he had been deemed not guilty on most accounts, on all accounts that really mattered, one could argue. Yet, he was too important to be allowed out on the streets, where rogue Death Eaters still lurked. 

Even so, it was not right to impose my company on the poor man. He had suffered enough of it, as it was. Sighing, I stuck my hand inside my trusty beaded bag, finding the potioneering periodicals I had brought for him. I lowered them on his bedside table with an apologetic smile. 

"I'm sorry, Sir. That was inappropriate of me, venting like that. I'll leave you be now. I brought something for you to read, in case you feel like it. There was an interesting article about the secondary attributes of birch bark by the new Potions Master of Durmstrang."

I stood up, straightening my robes, trying to catch his eyes with my own. 

"If you wish for me to stay away from you, which I'd understand perfectly, tell me. You don't have to say the words if that's too much to be asked, but just... flip the bird or something, I don't know."

That earned me a twitch of an eyebrow, which I counted as a huge personal victory. It had been months since I had seen him so reactive, and that had been when a healer had cleaned the horrible, gaping wound on his neck. I nodded at him, not seeing any universal hand signals. 

"Good night, Sir. I'll stay out of your hair for a while now." 

I turned to leave and walked out without looking back, as I always did. The wards recognised me, as they always did, and let me pass through without much further ado.

Had I actually looked back, I would have seen him extend his arm, trying to catch me, and maybe I would have registered the look in his eyes, trying to tell me something I needed to hear, even if I did not know it myself quite yet. 

I never did, though.


End file.
